


In your gentle arms

by Griffinous56



Category: Hollow Knight (Video Game)
Genre: Body Horror, Gen, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-02
Updated: 2019-06-02
Packaged: 2020-04-06 18:59:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19068712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Griffinous56/pseuds/Griffinous56
Summary: Until the very end, all that’s left in them are regret.It’s too late to change anything anymore.





	In your gentle arms

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Dưới vầng cánh rộng](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18960391) by [Griffinous56](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Griffinous56/pseuds/Griffinous56). 



**_1/_ **

In their entire life, they’ve never, ever, known what a hug is. Their life started with a gentle pale light glistening from a distance away, a cold shimmering light. And He was there, His slender white hand guided them out of the dooming darkness. A memory committed.

 

Their life revolved around Him and the beautiful White Palace covered in big silver roots. They buried themself in their schedules, tightly packed with lessons and trainings and rituals hold by the King himself, of Him spending days to days carving onto their black soft carapace elegant patterns belongs to the Seal of Bindings, bounded them to their ultimate purpose, the reason why they existed.

 

In their short life, they only knew so much gestures. It was _fight, listen, obey._ It was of moments silently trailing behind the imposing white figure they could never reached. Of days gripping tightly at their other wrist, _trying so hard_ to restrain themself from feeling anything, plucking out any poisonous roots of emotions that rooted itself into their heart when they started to feel something they couldn’t described. Sometime, the creature applied too much force that their claws dug into their delicate shell, wrist bleeding inky black void as they almost destroyed their own arm. But those wounds always healed itself a day later when they prepared themself for their training lesson with the King again, leaving no trace of damage behind. So unlike the ragged rough scar His scalpers had left all over their body, of marking and engraving that never healed _right_ , didn’t look anything like those elegant sigils in the King’s books at all.

 

In their most cherished memories, there was moment where He would rub their head, movement brief and gentle like a wind. Gestures He reserved for His Pure Vessel only, and they shall cherish those moments until the very end of their life.

 

(But they were supposed to be an object, a mean to an end, serving for a greater good that overshadowed their own existence. A prison for a God, no more, no less. They shouldn’t remember those memories and emotions, let alone wanting it, loving it, but they simply didn’t know how to stop. They didn’t know how to crave off those hideous tumors from their own being. _Couldn’t stop it_ even now, when they were sitting on their crib inside Mother— White Lady’s room, a vacant white chamber shimmering with her silver leaves hanging from the ceiling.)

 

Their life revolved around Him and Him only, and the vessel didn’t want to trade it for anything else.

 

Until someone came, a sibling born from a dalliance between the King and the Beast, exchanged for loyalty and service. Even though the gendered child was taken away into a village far below the moment she was born, it didn’t change the fact that she was still a child, a living, breathing being. His child.

 

One day, when He thought that no one could see - except them, only them, still the ever steady shadow of His light - He gave her a rub on the head too. In that fleeting moment, His features softened up. His black eyes no longer bearing the same steadfast and incisive gaze it normally held, shining with something they just couldn’t understand. He gave Hornet something He only reserved for them and even though that happened only once, they still felt… jealous? Anger?... Hurted?

 

They shouldn’t have feel those emotions or anything else, so they stood behind them, rigid and stiff as a statue, behind the father and his child, seemingly emotionless to everybody eyes. Gave no hints away before their sibling curious glance, a sister they never had a chance to spend some times with. On that night, when they returned to their lonely crib, the vessel could only stared down at their damaged wrists that almost broke in half.

 

That night, they tried to scream. But a muted wind-like sound was all that could escaped from behind their pale mask.

 

(Not their sister, they remind themself when claws clamped down on their wrist again, hidden behind their silver cloak that looked like His. They were simply an object, created and emerged from the depth of the world, survived and thrived on thousands of their siblings corpses left behind as empty husks in that pitch black pit.

 

Hornet wasn’t their sibling, not an object like they were. Hornet was His child, a rightful heir to the throne and so they, a thing, had no right to hold grudges against her. Hornet deserved much better from them.)

 

After that first and last meeting, Hornet and her mother never came back to the White Palace ever again. Their live reverted back to normal.

 

And if anything else, if they could, they wanted to give up everything in exchange for Him to look at them like how He did at Hornet.

 

The scars left behind by Him burnt, even now.

 

**_2/_ **

Hornet is Hallownest’s most loyal guardian, the protector of a land dying in the Light it worshiped. She lived with her harsh and cold demeanor mask she carved for herself, enduring and toughen just for a land where she called home after all theses years. Trying, desperately, to search for a single ray of hope in her own darkness, struggling in death and dolorous to guard Hallownest in its remaining days, hoping that one day, the kingdom finally could arise from its ash. She loved Hallownest above all else, a tomb where futures were buried alive deep inside its tattered bloody coffin, screaming and crying out for freedom as it dragged its own child down into its ever dooming darkness. Her only price in doing so was to be a lonely gravedigger (like how her father was, her mind whispered to her once among the green, but Hornet brushed it off, denied how similar she was to the late King), silently exhumed its moldy and filthy tomb and more than one, that place almost dragged her down with it, buried Hornet with her ideas and laughed in its haunted tone.

 

Sometime, Hornet wanted to give up, only to open her eyes to face the dusty cloud above, to find herself back right at the beginning.

 

Hornet, the daughter of Hallownest, forever cloaked in her fierce red cloak, now could only standing silently in the bedchamber, where soon it would forever becomes a shrine. Beside the stone bed where Herrah was sleeping laid a small figure resembled that of a child. It laid there, unnatural still with its pure nail still strapped onto its back. Had she not known its ability to dwell into the land of dreams, Hornet would’ve thought that it had died.

 

Tighten the grip she had on her precious needle handle, Hornet restrained herself from lashing out at her sibling, knowing that the Ghost of Hallownest deserved much better from her than just judgmental and instinctual protectiveness. Her instinct and reflex were still there, in the back of her mind, driving her to drive her needle through the potential threat, _had to protect her mother from any harm._

 

A mother who sacrificed anything for an idea that could never be achieved.

 

The Pale King’s grand plans failed, and with it the downfall of his kingdom as it succumbed to the Plague of that ancient light. Hornet knew, from the depth of her heart, that the unconscious small creature there was the key to end Her reign once and for all, the God in Dreams. Could only hoped and had faith.

 

Hornet sat down, curling into herself to hug her legs, claws weared and battered through time and battle reached out for Ghost’s. She sat there, and waited.

 

This reminded her of days spending with Herrah. When she would hug her into her chest, humming and old weaver song that was slowing fading away in time. Herrah hands never left her, always rubbing her head in calming strokes. Hornet didn’t understand anything at the time, only knew that her mother needed to go to somewhere far away in a long, long time, a place where she couldn’t follow. And so, she sat still in her embrace, humming along when she reached a chorus where Horneg could remembered. Drifted off to sleep.

 

(When she woke up, Hornet was sitting on a chair in a corner of the room. Desperately looking at the sleeping figure on top of the stone bed, voice no longer be able to reach her anymore.)

 

Hornet curled into herself more, claws tighten at Ghost’s soft ones. Reminding herself that what she did, what they all were trying to do, was for a better future.

 

So she sat there, and waited.

 

**_3/_ **

“Uh…” Quirrel blinked, looked down. “Is something the matter?”

 

It was shocking enough when his little friend jumped up to hug him when both of them were looking out at the Blue Lake. He wasn’t used to intimate interaction yet, especially of those came from this creature who he had met since his first day _coming back_ to this kingdom, who didn’t exactly react much to anything he said. Quirrel was used to its attentive look when he spoke out loud to himself, though, but not to anything this drastic.

 

There was shock, surprise and, interesting, sadness at its action. Quirrel for a moment briefly wondered of his little friend here know what he was going to do, once it left the place. For a few moment, he wanted to laughed at his own weaknesses.

 

Quirrel coughed and reluctantly smiled when it began to hug him tighter, its legs left the ground to fully clung at him like a koala. His little fella here wasn’t heavy, not at all, but Quirrel could feel himself starting to lose his balance at its momentum, both of them almost toppled down into the deep lake.

 

but that was what he wished for just now, wasn’t it? Do his little want that quick escape too?

 

“Alright alright. You can let me go now, buddy.” Quirrel patted its back like soothing a child. “Now don’t be like that, I’m not going anywhere.”

 

Ghost only shakes its head, hugging him tighter. And for a moment, he felt grateful.

 

Quirrel could only shaked his head and laughed in an exasperating way as he turned and tried to rest on a nearby rock, searching for the most comfortable position as he did so. And then, slowly, Quirrel reached his arms out to hug it back.

 

Maybe, _maybe,_ staying at Hallownest for a little more while wasn’t a bad idea. As long as his little buddy was still here.

  
  


**_4/_ **

The Hollow Knight collapsed onto their knees, momentarily stunned as the God’s whispers in their head began to fade away, left behind an empty and bitter feeling that felt so tight in their infectious chest. The Hollow Knight seemed to collapsed in their spot, no longer be able to draw strength at they simply kneeled there, accepting their fate. Both physically and mentally exhausted. Giving up.

 

When Ghost felt like the vessel wouldn’t struggle anymore, they dropped their nail and reach out to the ivory mask in front of them, cracked and dulled just like the Hollow Knight’s memorial in the City of Tears. Ghost tightened the grip its small hands had on either side of their mask, claws softly rubbing at the dusty and smooth surface as if chasing the pain away. A hand reached down to the Hollow Knight hand hanging limply on their side, small claws clutching at the too big palm, refused to let go. Even when the enrage God’s influences came back, wracking through their ruin body, infection pushing out between the cracks on their body, leaking sickly sweet smell. Ghost didn’t let go, _refused to let go,_ even when the Hollow Knight bowed their head to roar again, the sound scrapping at their sore throat as the Ancient Light managed to dig her talons into their mind once more, wrestling back the control. Ghost didn’t let go, couldn’t, wouldn’t, even when it could feel how the Hollow Knight body shaking violently in its hold, their crumpled and damaged body could only quiver with pain they had bear for years.

 

Ghost didn’t let go, even when its long lost sibling managed to pull back from the embrace, their rusty nail raised high above their head.

 

Plunging into the abandoned one’s chest.

 

**_5/_ **

Pale King could only stood there, looking up at his creation hanging limply in their chains inside the temple. The Hollow Knight didn’t react to their father— King, their vacant eyes staring emptily ahead, didn’t react to the chained on them, around them, or to each screeches of the furious God sealed inside them, even when their body was burning up at the intensity of it all, shell felt too hot, too tight.

 

The king stood there for a few more moment before he reached out his slender hand, rubbing the mask that resembled him in most ways possible from the material to the shape of its eyes holes. He rubbed their head, a familiar gesture He only reserved for his perfect creation, his Pure Vessel. Gifted them some more strength through his unlimited souls power, gave them more strength to endure its confinement.

 

Pale King let out a breath he didn’t know he had hold since the moment he stepped into this temple behind his Pure Vessel. This temple, where soon would become the forever grave for that raging Light. A perfect resting place for his Hollow Knight. The perfect vessel, his proudest accomplishment, created for one sole purpose. (He immediately ignored, discarded the word “his child”, had to remember that this was just his another creation, a tool meant for an end, no more no less. He shouldn’t, couldn’t allow himself to feel anything toward it.)

 

The Hollow Knight, when felt the King’s soft touches on their mask, stiffly tried to turned their head toward him, movement greatly restricted by chains and seals. This, too, was an expected response, how it would always reacted to him in a way the Pale King allowed it to. Obedient, eagle for instructions as they always were.

 

There wasn’t any order or instruction he could give them this time, however. They had carried out their mission successfully. No more guidance was needed.

 

_Ah._

 

Pale King pondered, fingers lingered on their mask for a few more moment before he pulled back, albeit reluctantly, and stepped back. He turned and glided to the temple entrance, didn’t turn back, _didn’t allow himself to turn back,_ as he started to chant the last spell to trigger the sealing, brought the Dreamer into their eternal sleep.

 

_He’s_ _no longer has a chance to hug them anymore._

 

**_6/_ **

Grimm hummed as the nightmare realm bright red essence rippled as he felt a lantern was being lit, each strokes of his future summoner ignited the flame that would signal that Troupe arrival and this life cycle’s end. He signed, and hissed, when the lantern finally flared up, feeling its calling as the lantern casted its flame all across the landscape.

 

He got a peak of where he would be, and barked out a laugh as he immediately recognized the place. Oh how funny yet cruel fate could be.

 

In his laps, the Grimmchild was sleeping soundly, obviously to everything. Grimm smiled down at him, affectionately petting the child in his embrace.

 

The Nightmare Heart heavy beating echoed in his head, and the nightmare realm shifted for a moment. _“It’s time.”_

 

With a snap of his fingers, the whole Troupe disappeared in a puff of red smoke.

 

Grimm couldn’t say he was excited to come back to the land of Wyrm and Root. But to say he was excited to see the change it had got over the years of his absence wasn’t wrong either, thoughts of flames he could gather from the already dying land.

 

For a moment, Grimm wondered if he would meet those from years before. And his question was answered when he face it, the crafted creation of the Wyrm.

 

The Troupe Master smirked, and bowed.

 

His time ran out.

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> People: write PK as an evil worm  
> Me: write PK as an exhausted King
> 
> Also Grimm’s part is... not what I planned. A little vague and abstract so think of it as what you make it to be ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


End file.
